


Dietro Il Velo

by NotPersephone



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Because Season 3 Needed More of That, Canon Compliant, F/M, Florence - Freeform, Gratuitous Greek Mythology, One Shot Collection, Tumblr Prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2018-08-10 03:36:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 13,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7828954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotPersephone/pseuds/NotPersephone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of short ficlets, Hannibal and Bedelia in Florence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of Persephone's Agency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal and Bedelia discuss the myth of Hades and Persephone

Warm Tuscan air caresses Bedelia’s face as she’s standing on the balcony of their Florentine apartment enjoying the sun and the view of the city below.  
“Spring has came early this year” she says as Hannibal joins her and stands behind her.  
“Ancient Greeks believed the beginning of spring marks the return of Persephone to Earth. I suppose she wants to leave the Underworld untimely this year” he asserts.  
“ A kidnapped woman deceived into staying with her captor. Hardly a story for the modern times” she retorts, irritated with his thinly veiled metaphor.  
Hannibal nods, “You are correct. I, however, have always read it differently.”  
Bedelia gives him an incredulous look.  
“Hades didn’t kidnap Persephone. He didn’t need to. She knew. She knew what he would do and she wanted him to do it. Hades was simply a means to an end.” There is genuine sadness in his eyes which takes her by surprise.  
“A modern tale for a modern day. Yet even this version treats Persephone unfairly.”  
“How so?”  
“Her agency does not have to negate the presence of emotions. Perhaps she wanted pomegranates. Perhaps she wanted him…” she breaks off, suddenly aware she said too much.  
They look at each other softly before turning away, unsure how to proceed in light of this new peculiar intimacy.  
Hannibal breaks the silence, “Perhaps an aperitivo before dinner?”  
“I would love one, thank you.” He heads inside and Bedelia’s analytical mind begins to process the new insights.  
Lost in her thoughts, she’s not aware of his return until two martini glasses are presented in front of her. The drink is crimson red with fruity notes.  
“Pomegranate martini” Hannibal explains noticing her puzzled expression, “Two of them. Because Hades wants to be entrapped as much as Persephone.” He smiles gently and offers her a glass.  
They savour their drinks for a brief moment before Hannibal leans in and kisses her. The kiss is deep and heartfelt. Bedelia is not sure whether it’s the alcohol or simply his lips but pomegranate has never tasted sweeter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal and Bedelia are the King and the Queen of the Underworld and I'm obsessed with that analogy.


	2. Champagne in Florence

The Mercatino Belle Epoque, just one street down from Palazzo Capponi, was never something Hannibal gave much attention to. He found the idea of street food appalling and swarms of tourists intolerable.

It wasn’t until one summer evening; he was walking home with Bedelia and she expressed interest in the market. French market in an Italian city seemed peculiar to her. Never one to deny her anything, he begrudgingly agreed to the detour. After browsing through the craft and food stalls (which insulted more that one of Hannibal’s senses) they made their way to centre of the market. The round wood cabin offered a selection of French wines and was surrounded by people.

“Red or white?” he asked turning to Bedelia. “Something pink, I think”, she replied with a smile and a spark in her eye. “Of course, Doctor”, he smiled back and gently brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. A few moments later, he returned with two flutes of Moet and Chandon Rose. They sat down on a wooden bench savouring their drinks. Seizing the moment, Hannibal put his arm around Bedelia. He was surprised when she leaned into his touch and put her head on his shoulder.  
The day faded into night but they hadn’t noticed; enjoying the warm air, cold champagne but, mostly, each other.

(This will become of one Hannibal’s most treasured memories of Florence.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Belle Epoque market was in Florence only briefly, for the summer of 2015. The food wasn't great but the champagne was amazing.


	3. Puzzle of space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was only one bedroom.

The apartment was ideal, a perfect reflection of their tastes and style. But there was only one bedroom.

“I can arrange for a sofa to be put into the study” Hannibal says facing his psychiatrist-turned-wife as they are standing the doorway.

“That won’t be necessary” Bedelia replies looking back at him. Her manner remains professional, as if they were discussing his next therapy session, not living arrangements.

“The bed is sizeable and commodious enough for two people. With plenty of space between.”

_Space between._

A bird of hope in Hannibal’s chest is crushed as soon as it takes flight.

“As you wish.” He pulls the remains of his person suit tightly around him in order to prevent his disappointment from showing.

On the first night, Hannibal lingers in his study, arranging his work area and letting Bedelia have her privacy. He enters the bedroom late at night. He finds her already asleep, lying on the edge of her side of the bed. Hannibal sits down on his half and looks at the stretch between them.  They have crossed an ocean to get here yet this feels immensely more infinite. With a heavy mind he lays down and falls into an uneasy slumber.

He wakes up before Bedelia and quietly leaves the room.

The routine continues for the next two days and they do not speak of it.

On the fourth night, Hannibal turns to face Bedelia’s side of the bed. He observes her petite frame wrapped in sheets and the way the light of moon adorns her hair. He can sense the warmth of her body and fights the urge reach out and touch her. She has trusted him to respect her personal boundaries and he does not want to betray that trust.

He watches her again the night after that.

When he wakes up, Bedelia’s face is nuzzling the junction of his neck and his shoulder. He is afraid to move and resists the impulse to stroke her hair.

Bedelia gently shifts as she comes out of her sleep.

The slow awakening changes to sudden rush when she becomes aware that Hannibal is lying next to her.

Her eyes spring wide open and she prepares her defences before registering that it was not Hannibal that breached the gap but her own body.

They look at each silently.

“I will prepare breakfast” is all that Hannibal manages to utter before leaving the room in an awkward manner, giving Bedelia time to gather her thoughts.

When she appears in the kitchen she is perfectly composed and makes no comments of what has occurred before.

Hannibal spends the day at the Palazzo and prepares himself for the inevitable discussion about the revision of their sleeping agreement.

He arrives home, they have dinner and, to his surprise, she does not bring up the subject.

When he enters the bedroom that night, he finds Bedelia lying the middle of the bed. He gazes at her with amazement trying to make sense of this new development.

She turns to face him, raising herself onto her elbow.

“Hannibal, you are staring.” No explanation to why she chose to occupy that space, and not her usual border, is offered.

Hannibal opens his mouth to speak but no words come out.

“It is quite impossible to sleep when someone is gawking at you” she continues.

When he does not reply she softly adds, “Come to bed.”

Like a spell, it breaks his haze.

He lays down next to her and inhales deeply savouring the smell of her hair and skin. Every note is memorised and stored in his mind.

His arm wraps around her waist, gently, giving her liberty in case she wishes to retreat.

But she does not.

Bedelia never ceases to astonish him.

An image of nesting dolls appears in Hannibal’s mind. He recalls his sister playing with them. He remembers her laughter and excitement when she discovered the dolls, placed one inside another.

He understands that sensation now. Every time he believes to have unearthed a path to Bedelia’s mind, a new and uncharted expanse appears.

Yet the mystery of the nesting dolls ends in the centre, with the last doll. Hannibal wonders whether he will be able to solve his puzzle, whether Bedelia will stop to astound him. No, he concedes, she will not. And he would not have it any other way.

He smiles to himself and falls asleep with her back pressed against his chest.

His dreams, for once, are peaceful and undisturbed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my mind Bedelia sleeps on the left side of the bed and Hannibal on the right side.


	4. Her smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of fluff inspired by a headcanon: http://bedelia-du-badass.tumblr.com/post/150507817237/headcanon

Bedelia Du Maurier does not smile. Not really. There is the half smile and the tight lips smile. But nothing more.

Nor does she laugh. The common idea of humour and all its connotations has never appealed to her. It is the curse of the rarefied. It takes a lot to keep her interested and even more to keep her amused.

And then there was that day in Florence. She was sitting in the living room when she heard a loud noise coming from the kitchen. It was followed by a few angry words uttered in Italian. Her knowledge of the language might had been elementary but she recognised the swear words. And she had never heard Hannibal use coarse language.

She made her way to the kitchen and was stricken by a peculiar sight. Hannibal was looking helplessly at the pool of egg yolks and broken shells covering the floor, his shoes and even his pants.

Bedelia had never witnessed him being graceless and did not think it was possible. It was so ludicrously ordinary. The sound rose at the back of her throat and before she could stop herself a laugh escaped her mouth.

Hannibal turned abruptly, looking at her with a stunned face and wide eyes. The sound died on her lips and a sense of dread filled her mind. Did she finally push him too far? And by something so innocent?

He slowly approached her and she could not move, a pinch of fear keeping her anchored. To her relieve, he reached out and gently touched her cheek before leaning in and kissing her, slowly and softly.

“I have never heard you laugh,” he said, his lips lingering close to hers “così bello.”

“I have never seen you being so uncoordinated,” she retorted, relaxing under his touch.

“I guess that means I have to make a fool of myself more often,” he replied, meeting her lips again and deepening the kiss.

An hour later Bedelia found herself perched on the kitchen counter with nothing more than his shirt on her back and a glass of wine in her hand.  
Hannibal was kneeling on the floor, wearing only pyjama pants, and cleaning the remains of the eggs. It felt like he was putting a show on for her entertainment. The absurdity of the situation stroke her again and she smiled.

She knew she should not had let her guard down. She knew this should not had been so careless and happy. But in that moment, it was exactly how she felt. Happy.


	5. His serenity

Hannibal finds ineptitude unacceptable. But damaging a priceless artefact due to carelessness is just plain rude.

The dismissal of the employee who caused the damage is not the only repercussion Hannibal considers.

Frustration stirs his mind as he makes his way home.

Bedelia is sitting in the bedroom when she hears a familiar sound of the key in the lock followed by an unfamiliar one of the door being slammed shut.

“Hannibal?” she calls out, slightly alarmed.

He enters the bedroom and she can tell he’s close to forsaking his composure, the crimson sparks shining in his eyes.

“Is everything alright?” she asks with caution.

“The incompetence of my assistant has become quite unbearable. Preventive measures must be taken.”

“You cannot apply your standards of work to others. They are always bound to fail,” she sympathises, understanding his frustration. She strives for perfection in every aspect of her life and does not comprehend how people can be satisfied with mediocrity.

Yet she is not the one who turns her exasperation into new cold cuts in the freezer.

She extends her hand in his direction.

“Come, join me.”

Hannibal looks puzzled but does not comment. He removes his jacket and lays down on the bed next to her. She gently guides him to rest his head on her lap.

A look of surprise and delight passes his face and he smiles at her.

“Would you like to talk about it?” she asks, her hand resting gently on his cheek.

Hannibal considers it for a moment before replying.

“No,” he smiles again, “But I would like to stay here for a moment, if you don’t mind, Doctor.”

Bedelia does not return the smile and says nothing but leans forward and places a kiss on his lips, one he eagerly returns.

They spend the evening enjoying this quiet intimacy. Bedelia runs her hands through his hair, her fingertips gently scratching his scalp. Hannibal keeps his eyes closed and hums with content.

And the events of the day are now nothing more than a distant and irrelevant memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bedelia being a calming influence on Hannibal is canon.


	6. Constellations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing held his attention more than the freckles on her skin.

The early mornings in their bed in Florence was his most treasured time of the day. Before the sun rose over Duomo and before the church bells announced the arrival of dawn.

Hannibal was always a creature of habit; he rose early and followed the same sequence every morning. It was left forgotten in Europe, replaced by a different kind of routine.

Each daybreak his eyes were fixed on Bedelia. Her hair in a beautiful disarray, eyelids fluttering as she was sleeping close to him. But nothing held his attention more than the freckles on her skin. Hidden during the day, this was the only moment he got to adore them. He wanted to taste each one of them on his tongue and search for patterns with his fingers, discovering constellations. He felt like an explorer unearthing uncharted territory. Each day we would find a new path on her skin, a never-ending treasure map.

Hannibal wondered how many people were privy of this discovery; if anyone at all. They were particularly intimate moments for him; Bedelia allowing him a peek beneath her defences and he luxuriated in every second of it.

A smile passed his lips. His heart grew lighter during those mornings and the darkness around it became thinner. A peculiar feeling not known to him before. Or perhaps simply forgotten and locked away in the depths of his mind. Hannibal liked to surrender to this new sentiment, relishing its warmth and tenderness.

As the sun began to shine through, he would finally place a gentle kiss on her cheek, sealing the new-found path with his lips. With a final look, he reluctantly let the sensation go and left the bed to prepare for work.

In his cell in Baltimore, Hannibal gazes through the tiny window in the ceiling, peering at the fading stars. It may appear to be nothing more than a longing for the vast space and morning air but it is not. Hannibal looks at the stars yet he sees only the constellations of Bedelia’s freckles.


	7. Novel sensations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The domesticity is novel and strange but not unpleasant.

She enjoys watching his morning routine. Hannibal standing in front of the bedroom mirror, his clothes arranged neatly on the chair next to it. The way he buttons his freshly ironed shirt, always starting from the last button and working his way up. How he inspects the outfit from all the angles, ensuring his appearance is immaculate.

Bedelia remains in bed and observes the scene through half closed eyes.

At times his eyes move to the corner of the mirror where he can see her watching him. A shadow of a smile passes his lips and she knows that he takes pleasure in her gaze. Yet, they do not comment on it and let the unspoken routine continue.

Until one day, when he turns to face her holding two ties in his hand.

“Blue or purple?” he asks, presenting the ties. Bedelia raises herself and examines the options.

“The purple one,” she simply replies before rising from bed. Her silk negligée flows smoothly around her figure as she walks towards him. She stands in front of him and takes the tie from his hand, admiring the pattern.

The tie is placed around his neck and she starts working on the knot. His eyes are fixed on her, she feels the burning intensity of his stare; hers remain focus on the tie. Deft fingers move with precision as she finishes the loop. Bedelia tightens the knot and straightens his collar. Her hands move slowly down his shoulders and rest on his chest. She finally raises her head and meets his eyes.

They look at each other curiously, unsure how to proceed. The domesticity is novel and strange but not unpleasant. What is so ordinary to other people has always been unknown to them. Until now.

She opens her mouth, but before she gets the chance to speak, Hannibal stoops down and kisses her softly, diving into the new sensation and gently pulling her with him. And she willingly follows.

Bedelia likes all these moments. She likes him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just love the idea of them experiencing such simple things for the first time, together. Moments like that definitively happened.


	8. The Right Partner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a tumblr prompt: Hannibal teaches Bedelia to dance.

Bedelia did not know how they had arrived at that specific subject. Perhaps Hannibal had steered it in that direction, perhaps it was a coincidence.

Sitting in the armchairs, they were enjoying a glass of port and an exchange of ideas. The discussion has now centred around ballroom dancing.

Bedelia attended dancing classes as a child, as her parents had held an archaic idea that a proper woman needs to know how to dance. But she did enjoy dancing, apart from one dance.

“I find it hard to believe that you are not fond of the tango. It is such an enrapturing dance. The steps might be the same but no two sequences are alike. It is more of a conversation between the partners than a routine,” Hannibal comments.

“It could be that I am not interested in that kind of conversation,” Bedelia retorts.

“Or it may be that you have not found the right partner,” Hannibal stands up and extends his hand in her direction.

Bedelia regards him with wariness. “This is hardly an appropriate space for a dance lesson. And I am not wearing any shoes.”

“Shoes do not make better dancers. And we will not collide with any pieces of the furniture. Trust me.” Confidence radiates from his words and his posture. Reluctantly, she accepts his hand and gets up from her spot.

Hannibal guides her to the middle of the room, away from the chairs and table. He raises his left hand and wraps his right arm around her back, placing his hand on her back. Bedelia mirrors his movements, recalling her dance training. She tries not to think about his physical advantage. Without her heels, she feels even more vulnerable.

“We should start with the basic step and then _cort_ _é_. It begins with…”

“I am familiar with the steps Hannibal,” she responds sharply, still wary of the situation.

“Of course,” Hannibal counts down and begins the lead, stepping with his left foot.

Bedelia focuses on maintaining her posture and looking to the side. She is all too aware of the singular intimacy of this moment, which makes her uneasy.

The push and pull on the tango reminds her of their relationship. All these years Hannibal has pursued her and she has always kept him at arm’s length. Yet, his attention has never faltered and now here they are. Together.

As the dance continues she becomes less tense and lets the flow take her, allowing herself to trust her partner.

Hannibal knows exactly where to lead her and her body responds. There is no need for music; they understand when the other person will move before they do it. Their movements are perfectly poised and they do not miss a single step. As if they have been dancing together for years and, in a way, they have.

Hannibal turns Bedelia to the side and brings her back. But instead of resuming the frame he wraps his arms around her, bringing her closer to him.

“That is not a proper dance move,” Bedelia remarks.

“The most important thing is the passion, not the technique. Tango is something you feel, not something you do,” he responds, still holding her tight, as if there was no pulling them apart.

Once again, Bedelia is aware of his towering presence, yet it is not unpleasant. She regrets that the dance is over.

“Would you like to dance again?” Hannibal asks, as if sensing her disappointment.

“Yes,” she replies, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. 

Hannibal smiles and resumes their dance position. Their conversation has just begun.


	9. High Heels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tumblr height difference prompt: The first time Hannibal sees Bedelia without her high heels on.

He always associated it with their sessions. The sound of heels against the floor. Each time he rang the doorbell, it was the first thing that welcomed him, even before the ever-intoxicating scent of her reached his nose. The way she carried herself, walking in front of him, confident and refined.

Perhaps it could have been considered a part of her armour, for many women it is just that. But she was not just any woman.

It was the last sound he heard when she closed the door of his office after saying goodbye.

The one he desired to hear once more, the longing growing stronger every day, hoping she would return.

And she did. They left together and made their way to Paris.

During the first days, Hannibal disappeared; making arrangements and transferring funds. He spent the evenings seated by the table in their hotel suite pondering the events that took place in Baltimore. The familiar sound echoed from the bedroom as Bedelia walked in to join him.

“Would you like to talk about?” she asked every evening. And every evening he rejected the offer.

He longed for her guidance for many months, but now the premise seemed hollow. She offered him the words he felt the loss of, but it did not soothe his mind.

The cold sound of her heels emphasised the separation he felt.

Until one evening, when she did not meet him in the sitting area.

He entered the bedroom and found her standing on the balcony, overlooking the city below; barefoot with an oversized hotel bathrobe wrapped around her petite body.

The view surprised Hannibal and he took a moment to observe her. The woman in front of him was no longer Dr Du Maurier, she was simply _Bedelia_.

“May I join you?” he asked, feeling like an intruder trespassing on her private moment.

“Of course,” she turned her head and offered him a half smile.

Hannibal stepped on the balcony and stood behind her, towering over her small figure.

Gently wrapping his arm around her waist, he pulled her closer. Her tiny frame fitted perfectly against his bigger one.

He looked down at the city, noticing its beauty for the first time since they arrived. Gazing over the rooftops, Hannibal tried to locate the building where he had lived as a student. An impossible undertaking, but he enjoyed the view nonetheless.

His chin brushed against the top of her head and she leaned into his touch.

They stood together in silence and Hannibal perceived that it was not words he was missing all this time.

_His Bedelia_.

The following morning, he took her to his favourite café.


	10. A place of belonging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a prompt: Afraid to lose Bedelia’s tiny frame in big crowds, Hannibal uses that excuse to hold her hand.

He held her hand during the flight, as if to ensure himself she was truly there with him, on the other side of the veil. Words were not easy for him; he offered her an apologetic smile, regretting wandering away from her.

Florence had surprised Bedelia. She expected a tranquil city lost in the past, but was welcomed by a busy holiday spot, full of people. Still the city was compact enough and Bedelia found it enjoyable to explore.

When Hannibal proposed showing her the sights, she gladly agreed.

They left the apartment and Hannibal’s hand reached for Bedelia’s. She flinched at the unexpected touch and observed him curiously.

“The old town is filled with tourists. I would not want to lose you in a crowd,” he addressed the unspoken question.

“I have visited it already and I am able to take care of myself.”

The last time she allowed someone to hold her hand, she was a young girl and she refused to be treated like a dependent person.

“I feel protective of you, that is all,” he looked at her with a strange sincerity in his eyes.

His honesty was novel and not yet proven. Bedelia did not know whether it was authentic concern or merely his possessiveness, but she let him take her hand.

They walked hand in hand, enjoying the beauty of the Renaissance city. Hannibal’s grip became slightly tighter as they reached the uneven cobblestones of Piazza Della Signoria.

The impressive building of the Uffizi gallery came into sight.

“I spend a lot of time here when I was younger,” he gazes at the facade with sentiment, “Shall we?”

He let go of her hand but placed his on her back as they manoeuvred their way through the congested entrance and overfilled corridors.

Room by room, Hannibal’s nostalgia slowly took hold of him, his touch faltered and his hand left her body.

When they arrived at the room displaying the works of Botticelli, Hannibal was utterly lost in thoughts. He stopped in front of La Primavera; his eyes drank in every detail and the world around him was left forgotten. Bedelia suddenly felt like an undesired companion, in a place where she might not belong or be wanted.

As if sensing her thoughts, Hannibal turned to face her.

“I have never considered I would see this again. And I have never imagined I would share this experience with someone,” he smiled at her, his voice overflowing with emotion, “I am happy it’s you, Bedelia.” He had never used her actual name in public, but at that moment, she did not care about precaution.

Her hand reached over, parting the last remains of the veil and found his. She interlaced her fingers with his and squeezed gently.

“I am glad you did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure Hannibal showed Bedelia all of his favourite places in Florence and I know that he was happy to have her, just her, there with him. Perhaps, someday I'll write something more.


	11. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a tumblr prompt: Hannibal watches Bedelia cook for the first time.

Hannibal opened the door to the apartment and stopped. An unanticipated smell of pastry was filling the air.

The scent led him to the kitchen where he was welcomed by a surprising sight.

Bedelia was standing by the table, an apron around her waist, pressing pastry into cups. Already baked ones were lined up on her left, next to a bowl of glistening cranberries.

He stood in the doorway, taking in the view. Sensing his gaze, she turned.

“Hannibal, you are early. I am sorry, I thought I would be done by the time you returned.”

“I did not know you baked,” Hannibal was still looking with amazement.

“I don’t. This is- “she paused considering whether she should continue.

“This was a tradition of sorts. My family did not engage in festive activities, except for my grandmother. She used to make cranberry tarts every Christmas. And she taught me the recipe. Now I prepare them every year around the holiday season.”

Hannibal felt like a trespasser on her private moment.

“I will leave you to it then,” he said, turning to leave.

“Would you like to help me?” Bedelia asked unexpectedly.

Hannibal smiled, his heart leaping with delight, and joined her in the kitchen.

She arranged the cups and he prepared the cranberry filing. Bedelia oversaw his progress, correcting him from time to time.

He was not used to being the sous-chef in his own kitchen, nor being told what to do. But this felt pleasant, _domestic_. Like something long lost, that he had never hoped to recover. Pictures from his childhood emerged in his mind.

“My mother used to insist on helping out in the kitchen, although she came from a wealthy family and was not familiar with housework. I liked to watch her when she was preparing meals.”

He smiled again, looking at Bedelia and she returned the smile. They gazed at each other silently.

How strange it might appear that they would engage in something as ordinary as this. And they took pleasure in every minute of it.

They were there together. And that was enough.

Later that evening, they were standing on the balcony, watching the city below fall asleep under the cover of lights. Hannibal wrapped his arms around Bedelia, shielding her from the cold.

He thought about his childhood once more. That was the last time he experienced the feeling of home.

Until now.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas! Thank you for to the few lovely people who read and support my work x


	12. Perfect peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a prompt: The first time Hannibal sleeps beside Bedelia and feels her tiny body against his.

She was never one to take risks. It implied a lack of control, not something she would indulge in willingly. Yet she now found herself on a run with a wanted man.

Part of her relished the feeling of the thrill, silencing the other part, the one she relied on most of her life.

But the nights brought out the fears the day concealed, and Bedelia’s dreams were uneasy, repeating the most frightful scenarios. Being caught, her story not accepted and her life, as she knew it, over. The paradox was not lost on her, not being afraid of a killer laying next to her but fearing the loss of her reputation, and even freedom.

Bedelia looked at Hannibal on the other side of the bed. He remained asleep, yet the sleep did not return to her, the anxiety taking over her mind. Eyes wide open, she stared at the ceiling, considering her every option.

She glanced at Hannibal’s side once more. The heat radiating from his body was pulling her in. Her weary mind was in dire need of a rest and her fatigued body was drawn to his warmth.

She curled up by his side and closed her eyes. The steady sound of his heartbeat filled her ears and her own breathing slowed down, in tune with his heart. As her body began to relax, so did her mind. A strange sense of comfort took over and Bedelia nuzzled his shoulder while drifting into unconsciousness; her dreams now undisturbed.

***

The dream was always the same. He was standing in the middle of his family grounds. The snow was falling heavily, but he did not feel the cold. He did not feel anything, he was unable to move. His sister’s screams sounded from the house, calling for him repeatedly, and he could do nothing but listen. Each time he woke up with her voice still echoing in his mind.

The haze of sleep slowly lifted and he became aware of a soft pressure of a warm body against his. He blinked, convinced it was still a dream. But it wasn’t.

He looked at the petite woman pressed so closely against him, sleeping soundly. His deft fingers began to gently stroke her hair, falling softly on his shoulder. He inhaled slowly and the sweet smell of her skin drifted into his nostrils.

A missing piece of him was falling into place. An unknown sensation of belonging overcame him and tranquillity spread over his heart.

Hannibal wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer to him. A content sigh escaped her lips and a smile appeared on Hannibal’s lips. He placed his face against hers and closed his eyes.

The ghosts of his past became silent, he could only hear Bedelia’s delicate breaths; his mind was finally at peace.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a weak spot for this kind of intimacy between them.


	13. Calm in the storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt: Hannibal and Bedelia are stuck in a car due to blizzard and Bedelia isn't as calm as Hannibal.

A phobia is a particular infliction. Knowing its cause and treatment does not prevent you from experiencing it.

These thoughts ran through Bedelia’s mind as they were sitting in the car parked on the side road. A heavy blizzard raged outside. They were making their way back to Florence when a sudden onset of winter made the visibility so limited, it forced Hannibal to pull their car over.

The more snow continued to fall, enveloping the car, the more confining the inside of the car became. Bedelia did not experience this fear since she was a teenager, but now she became aware of her accelerated heart rate.

She tried to restrain the feeling but it only increased her anxiety. She feared losing control, and more importantly, she feared losing it in from of Hannibal. Again.

Her mouth suddenly dry, she started to feel dizzy.

“Are you feeling all right, Bedelia?” Hannibal’s concerned voice reached her ears.

“Yes, I am fine Hannibal” she attempted to sound calm, but her breathing was becoming more excessive by a minute.

“Is it claustrophobia?” he asked.

Bedelia was too focused on her increasing discomfort to reply.

“You need to try to slow your breath,” he continued.

“I am familiar with the technique,” she breathed out with difficulty, irritated with his tone. She was his psychiatrist, he was not hers.

Hannibal turned to face her, sincere worry pouring from his gaze. He placed his hand on her back, gently, not wanting to increase her unease.

“I am sorry, we cannot leave the car at the moment. But I am here with you. And you are going to be fine,” slowly, his hand moved up and down her back, comforting and soothing.

Bedelia reached out and grasped his other hand, suddenly needing to anchor herself.

She allowed her eyes to close, the muscles of her face began to relax. As her breath became more shallow, Hannibal’s hand moved to her shoulder and he pulled her closer. Bedelia focused on his presence, it felt so familiar and his touch, relaxing.

Snow kept on falling, but Bedelia no longer felt distressed. She felt safe.


	14. Nourished

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For tumblr prompt: what happened after bedannibal's first time.

They lie entwined in the gathering dusk. The air is heavy and her scent fills the room, more intoxicating than any perfume ever created.

There is a dewy glow in her cheeks and her hair is dishevelled. She has never been more beautiful than at this moment. His hands trail over the curves of her body, committing every line to memory. There are so many paths yet to discover and he relishes the thought.

For years, the imagination of her had possessed him. He explored her from a distance with his unspoken desire. He fantasized about her, however lewd, however _rude_ it might have been to engage in such thoughts. But he could not help it. Desire is the kind of thing that eats you up and leaves you starving.

No words are spoken between them. There has been enough of those over the years. They haven’t been lovers in the physical sense, but every word uttered brought them closer together. Their minds came together long before their bodies did.

As she was removing his shirt, along with his person suit, he felt nervous. He gazed into her eyes, expecting fear or doubt, but there was only desire and hunger, as ardent as his. She wanted him for who he was. He wanted her as she was everything he had ever longed for. He was hers to savour and nothing in him remained untouched by her. They devoured each other so sweetly and perfectly, until there was nothing left but fulfilment, still burning so deep inside them both, it seems never ending.

He sinks his lips down on her neck, tasting her again, the salt of their sweat fused with the sweetness of her skin. He knows nothing will ever taste as exquisite as her.

He does not want to break their embrace. This is so much more than he has ever imagined. He wants to wake up not knowing where she ends and he begins.

Hannibal and Bedelia wrap themselves in satin darkness and fall asleep, satiated and content.

Their hunger satisfied, for the first time in their lives they feel nourished.


	15. The scent of jasmine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For tumblr prompt: memories associated with smells, places that reminded Hannibal of Bedelia after she left.

_Dearest Bedelia,_

_The scent of jasmine drifted into my nose today. One of nurses was wearing a new perfume. It was mediocre but I have managed to distinguish that one clear note. The same one I smelled every evening when you joined me in our bedroom in Florence. Your skin still warm from the bath and the sweet aroma surrounding you. I reflected on our untold moments together, filled with contentment and peace._

_Peace I should have preserved._

_I dreamt about you every night this week. I felt your body pressed close to mine. The sensation so vivid, I could almost touch you. Almost._

_I wander the corridors of the Uffizi in my mind and all my favoured paintings show your face._

_Dreams and memories meld together and I can no longer separate one from the other. I do not wish to. Your vision is my only light in this place devoid of beauty._

_I am no longer anything but yours,_

_Hannibal._

His pen lingers over the sheet of paper. The page is blank.

He composes the words in his mind but never writes them down. To do so would be too perilous.

He knows his correspondence is being monitored and he does not want to endanger her by bringing unwanted enquiries and visitors to her door. She is telling her story and he is helping her to do just that. Because she asked him to.

So, he sends her simple greeting cards instead.

Hannibal carefully places the letter in his memory palace, alongside all the previous ones.

He holds onto hope that one day he will get to hold her once more and smell the jasmine on her skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically not set in Florence, but the memories are so I included it here. I have a soft spot for this one, canon all the way.


	16. Eye of the storm

It seems as if the heavens have opened and the wrath of gods has fallen on Florence. The coal-like clouds cover the sky and the streets of the city are hidden behind a curtain of rain. The sudden drop of temperature accompanies the change of weather.

Bedelia seats curled by in an armchair, enjoying the crackling warmth of the fire Hannibal started for her at the first sign of cold.

Hannibal stands by the window, looking at the torn Florence sky. The heavenly havoc is something he might take pleasure in. The strobe of lightning illuminates his sharp features, yet when the light falls on his eyes, they remain soft, the eminent sign of melancholy spreading in his mind.

“My sister was afraid of storms,” he speaks, confirming her observation,” she used to say she was worried that something would happen to Cesar, but I knew the truth.”

A tiny smile appears on his lips, as his mind slips backwards, remembering.

“She would hide in my bedroom at the first sight of lightning.”

Bedelia leaves her spot and approaches him slowly.

“Were you afraid?” she asks, regarding him.

“Of the storm? No, I was not.”

“That is not what I meant,” she keeps her eyes on him.

“Fear comes from inaction, it is not a concept I am familiar with,” he replies firmly.

“Perhaps you were not allowed the luxury of being afraid. Fear is not always a weakness. Nor is finding comfort in others,” she gently rests her hand on his shoulder.

He turns to face her and meets her gaze. The blue of her eyes is the colour of clear azure sky. so unlike the dark horizon outside. Hannibal says nothing and she returns to her armchair.

The downpour continues well into the night. The rain conceals the view from their bedroom window. Hannibal lies awake, thinking about Bedelia’s words. She sleeps, nestled close to him.

Another stroke of gold light flashes outside and Hannibal turns, bringing her closer to him. It may appear as a protective gesture, but she is not the one who needs it.

Hannibal closes his eyes and lets the calm wash over him. In the storm of his mind, she has always been his anchor. He has never felt safer.

 


	17. Ataraxia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For tumblr prompt: Bedelia can't stop caressing Hannibal's cheekbones while he's asleep.

Like an edge of a razor-sharp knife; if you get too close, you’ll get cut. Bedelia has always considered this as an apt metaphor.

They lay together, facing each other, Hannibal’s arm wrapped around Bedelia’s hip, his breathing even as he is lost to sleep. The lights of the city slip through the open window each time the gentle wind dances against the curtain.

Bedelia touches his cheek, feeling the stubble along his chin and jawline. She cradles his face in her hand, gently brushing his cheekbone with her thumb. A sharp knife that cut so many, but never her. The others had only glimpsed beneath the veil and saw a monster, she peeled it off completely and found a lost boy still looking for his sister.

Nightmares used to disturb his nights. He mentioned them in passing, feigning lapse of memory, but she could tell they were too vivid and painful to discuss. They seem to have disappeared here, in a quietude of their shared bed. He sleeps peacefully, the ghosts of his past silent. But there are many demons in his mind, she hopes he will be able to banish them in time. She wishes she could help him to do so.

Bedelia continues to caress his cheekbone, her touch feather-like and tender. She knows how keen his instincts are, but he does not wake. Her touch is familiar, trusted and much desired. A soft sigh of content escapes his lips as his dreams remain undisturbed.

She is no longer his psychiatrist, but she remains a calm of his soul.

She smiles silently to herself and closes her eyes. The stillness beneath the veil envelops her as she drifts away, her hand still resting softly on his cheek.


	18. Mozzafiato

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For tumblr prompt: Bedelia loving the way Hannibal kisses her. I loved that prompt! ♥

It begins with a briefest brush. His lips touch hers softly; a feather-like skim. Another brush follows. And another. His hand cups her face and his thumb caresses her skin, in agreement with his mouth. With each graze, electric sparks flicker deep in her body, like twinkling fairy lights, awaking her every fibre.

Then he presses his lips against hers, holding his mouth on hers, and she feels how perfectly they match. It is a gentle pressure until she opens her mouth and flicks her tongue over his lips, starved for more. She can feel him smiling against her skin as he opens wide, inviting her for a deeper taste. The moment her tongue touches his, all the sparks inside her ignite, searing her senses. She presses her whole frame against his, relishing the way the heat of his body matches the one aflame within her. A fire she has never felt before, slowly melting her bit by bit.

He kisses her so deeply she does not know who is breathing for who; his mouth and tongue taste like warm spiced honey. He kisses her again, and again; each kiss more intense than the last. When they finally part, Bedelia gasps loudly as though unsure how to breathe on her own.

It’s Saturday afternoon and they linger on their bed, uncaring for anything but each other. The book she was reading a short while ago is now stranded on the edge of the bed, the only witness to their spontaneous make-out session. How silly for two respected adults to engage in such an activity, Bedelia could have concluded, but there is only one thought left in her mind, marvelling at how _good_ this feels.

Hannibal pulls back, smiling at her and she frowns at the unwanted pause. His smile broadens, eyes gleaming, noticing the tiny scrunch of her nose he adores so much. Taking advantage of her languid moment, he touches his nose to hers, brushing it gently. And before she gets a chance to comment on his fondness for such displays of affection, he kisses her once more, teeth grazing her lower lip and she moans into his mouth. Her hands tangle in his hair, keeping him in place. She does not want to let him go, let any of this go. The whole world fades away anew; it’s just the two of them in the dark, feeling alive.


	19. Seeing red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Hannibal being jealous about Bedelia dancing with another man.

Hannibal watches as the man’s clammy hand takes Bedelia’s elegant one and leads her to the dance floor. An ostentatious professor from Oxford, who has been hanging on her every word this evening and spending too much time in her presence for Hannibal’s liking, has finally been awarded with a privilege of dancing with her.

The man places his other hand awkwardly on her shoulder as the orchestra strikes a new melody. He looks giddy, like a school boy dancing with a girl for a first time. His moves are just as unskilled. Hannibal watches as he leads her without finesse, already missing a step twice; Bedelia’s gracefulness being the only thing saving the dance. He hopes the man did not step on her feet, a thought which raises his pulse.

The man seems to be holding her too close and Hannibal observes as his hand moves down her back. Instantly, he sees red. The scholar discussing the unappreciated genius of Gentile Bellini is now nothing more than background noise, as Hannibal’s gaze burns through the crowd, focusing on the rude man. He is ready to move immediately if the man’s hand shifts any further, uncaring for his cover.

The piece ends at last and the professor escorts Bedelia back, _still_ holding her hand.

“You are a very lucky man Dottore, your wife is a delight. She even managed to make me look good,” he comments, but Hannibal remains silent. Bedelia gazes at him with caution, it is unusual for him to be impolite, and sees the scarlet sparks in his eyes.

“Thank you for the dance Professor, it was a pleasure to meet you,” she responds instead, placing her hand on Hannibal’s arm, a tranquil gesture. The man appears to be unhappy with a sudden send-off, but Bedelia’s stern gaze makes him retreat.

“Is something the matter?” she finally asks after the man’s departure, her hand still on his arm.

“The man was quite ungraceful.”

“Yes, he was. But I managed,” she replies calmly.

“He was holding you with very little space in between,” Hannibal’s anger does not falter.

“I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can,” he interjects at once.

“You are upset because I danced with him,” she states and Hannibal averts his gaze,” We need to keep our appearances. And what if I were displeased with you dancing with someone else?” Bedelia adds, knowing she is not the only one attracting lustful stares all evening.

“But I do not want to dance with anyone else. Only you,” he replies, looking back at her with a solemn stare.  Bedelia gives him an amused smile.

“All right. Let’s show them how it’s done, shall we?” she offers her hand and Hannibal beams, the spark of excitement replacing the red in his eyes, as he leads her back to the dance floor.

And he does not let her out of his arms for the remaining of the night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love jealous Hannibal! But I think I need to write jealous Bedelia at some point :)


	20. Glasses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: Hannibal temporarily loses his reading glasses and Bedelia finds them first and puts them on him.

His vexation is always ice cold, infusing the air with a palpable sense of trepidation and is more than enough to make anyone feel apprehensive. But Bedelia merely looks up from her paper.

Hannibal paces restlessly through the sitting room, his eyes shifting from one surface to another. She says nothing and returns to her reading. Soon a sound of books being moved aside and drawers being open and shut reaches Bedelia’s ears. She looks up again. It is not like Hannibal to misplace something; his organisation is meticulous bordering on excessive.

“Is something the matter?” she finally asks as his search continues.

“No,” he gives a curt reply and Bedelia’s eyebrow arches.

“I am sorry,” he corrects his tone, remembering his manners. She sets her paper aside and walks to join him.

“Did you lose something?” she regards him more closely now. He hesitates before replying.

“Not exactly,” another pause,” I seem to have misplaced my glasses,” he admits with visible reluctance.

Her eyes study him in silence, contemplating his curious behaviour; she then turns and enters their bedroom. She returns a moment later, holding a pair of glasses.

“They were on your nightstand,” she explains, awaiting his reaction” you left them there last night.”

Hannibal glances at the glasses in her hand, then averts his gaze, suddenly self-conscious.

“Thank you,” he says, still avoiding her eyes.

“Are you upset because you lost them or because you need them?” He does not reply. Bedelia turns the glasses in her hands, looking at the elegant black frames.

“I like them,” she says unexpectedly and places them gently on his face. Her fingers adjust the temples before moving down and slowly stroking his cheeks.

Hannibal stares at her now; the chilly annoyance in his eyes is gone, being replaced by a boyish twinkle. Bedelia smiles. She likes that too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On this day a year ago I wrote my first drabble. How time has flown! Thank you staying around ♥


	21. A glimpse beneath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt: what if Bedelia and Hannibal went to the market to buy fresh high quality ingredients and Bedelia cooked for Hannibal

“Are you attempting to get me drunk?” Bedelia stares at the small glass in her hand, one normally used for water, yet the unmistakable sour aroma tells her the red liquid is in fact wine,” It’s 11 am.”

“It is breakfast wine. It is a tradition here and this food stall serves the best one in Florence. Their food is a delight too, if you wish to sample it,” Hannibal replies calmly, sipping his wine. This explains why they are currently sited on wooden benches inside a market hall, not a place she would ever associate with Hannibal’s taste.

“Besides, you expressed interest in having gnocchi with prawns and arugula. San Lorenzo market provides the freshest ingredients.”

“No, an interest in _making_ gnocchi,” her gaze sharp, scrutinizing his attempt of distracting her.

“Right,” Hannibal focuses on his glass.

“Is something wrong? Don’t you trust me?” her eyes remain on him.

“With my life,” he replies immediately.

“But not your kitchen,” she retorts. Hannibal falls silent.

“I have never had anyone cook for me before. Not since I was a boy,” he admits reluctantly.

“You are worried the meal will not be up to your usual standards,” she presses on.

“No, of course not.”

“Then perhaps you will enjoy someone serving you for a change,” her hand touches his softly, calming the beast as only she can.

Hannibal says nothing as they make their way through the market, allowing Bedelia to choose all the ingredients and merely assisting in translation.

When they return home, Bedelia settles herself in the kitchen, but Hannibal does not follow, lingering in the dining room and taking quick peeks through the door from time to time.

“You can come in. This is still your kitchen,” Bedelia calls, catching his not-so-subtle glances. She offers him a glass of wine, as he normally offers her, and he sits quietly by the counter, observing her.

“I did not know you cook,” he says after a while, mesmerised by her elegant gestures and precision of the preparation.

“I don’t, not really. This was my favourite meal when I was younger and my parents took me to Europe. I learned the recipe. I wanted to share it with you,” she replies, a tiny smile on her lips.

Hannibal sits in silence, savouring this glimpse beneath her cautiously crafted façade and placing it carefully in his memory palace, a priceless treasure not to be matched. He watches as she finishes the meal and relishes the quiet intimacy of the moment.

The food is delicious; Hannibal compliments her more than once. He hopes she will cook for him again.

He hopes she will share more of herself.


	22. Ideal pitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal and Bedelia playing the Theremin.

“Hannibal, it’s late. Is everything all right?” Bedelia woke up in the middle of the night, feeling suddenly cold and found his side of the bed empty. She then found him perched over his desk, examining an odd box with an antenna.

“Yes, I am sorry if I disturb you. I couldn’t sleep,” he says.

“What is that?” her attention turns to the box.

“It is a Theremin. I had one back in Baltimore and I found this in the Palazzo, gathering dust on the shelf. I thought I’ll bring it back to life. It is an extraordinary instrument. Come and see,” Hannibal extends his hand in her direction. He shifts, making room for her, and she sits next to him. His arm reaches over, enveloping her in his embrace.

“You play without touching it. It is quite challenging, but some people found it to be a sensuous experience,” he explains.

 _Some people._ “Did you play it with all your lovers?” her voice is calm, but the tone shifts to clinical detachment. Silence follows, a confirmation of her assumption. She does not know how to feel about Hannibal bringing out his old seduction techniques to use on her.

“All the other lovers weren’t you,” he speaks at last, sensing her unease, his voice quiet and serious. Bedelia remains silent.

“You are more than just a lover to me,” he continues, his tone suddenly timid. She did not expect these words. They are two people who always used words in abundance, but could never find the right ones to express their feelings. She carefully places his declaration in her mind to reflect on later, but her dismay vanishes.

Her curiosity turns to the instrument in front of her. She slowly reaches her hand out, but stops, unsure how to approach it. Hannibal’s hand gently touches hers, guiding it on.

“Allow me to show you,” he says, his hand resting softly on top of hers, both extended above the instrument,” this is the pitch antenna and this is the volume antenna,” he reaches his other hand out, holding it steady. He then urges her fingers to move with a tender pressure of his hand. The instrument awakens with an eerie sound.

“It is very intuitive. It is made for you,” he comments, continuing to guide her hand.

“You overestimate me,” she says.

“I don’t. Close your eyes.” Bedelia sighs, but closes her eyes and surrenders to the sensation of conducting sounds out of air. Hannibal moves his hand away, leaving hers to change the pitch. His other hand begins to move, raising and lowering the volume, in sync with her tone.

“Perfect,” he whispers into her hair, his cheek resting on her temple.

“I am sure you said that to all the people,” she comments.

“You know I didn’t,” he says as they continue their odd concert, perfectly coordinated.

Bedelia smiles to herself. She was never fond of duets before, but now she understands that the secret lies with the perfect partner.


	23. entr'acte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bedelia and Hannibal making out in front of the harpsichord.

Her feline quality entrances him. He loves the way she observes people. She remains quiet, but her eyes are sharp and perceptive. A stillness of a predator in waiting. When she wishes to be alone, she retreats to the bedroom or the bathroom, oblivious to his presence. And when she wants attention, she makes sure she gets it.

Hannibal has not realised she was in the apartment, until the sound of her heels pierced through the melody of the harpsichord. His notes are punctuated with each of her steps, until they cease when she reaches her purpose.

Bedelia stands by his bench, but does not sit down as she normally would. Hannibal turns his head to smile at her and is greeted by a stern look of her bright, sapphire eyes.

“You have been playing for a long time,” her way of telling him he has been neglecting her.

“I apologise. I was lost in this new piece I’m composing,” he replies, a sincere regret in his voice. He looks at her once more; her gaze remains alert, assessing how to best approach the situation. His own returns to the keys and a tiny smile pulls at his lips.

Finally, she joins him on the bench and sits in silence as he continues to play. And suddenly, her hand moves to rest on top of his, her fingers pressing his gently, a soft, tender touch. It may appear as though she is trying to learn the melody, but she is not. Hannibal closes his eyes for a moment and smiles again. Her touch is enchanting and very _distracting,_ but he does not miss a note. Yet.

Her fingers move up his arms, fingernails grazing his skin through his shirt. Then she stops and stares at him once more; he can feel the intensity of her eyes, as distracting as her touch.

Her hand then reaches to the back of his neck, fingers running through his hair, the most pleasurable sensation. Hannibal swallows a moan and attempts to focus on the music. He knows she would be disappointed if he gave in too soon. And he would hate nothing more than her being displeased.

She shifts closer to him, her head next to his shoulder and her warm breath caresses his neck. He closes his eyes again, in anticipation, and soon enough, her head tilts and she presses her lips to his skin. She slowly kisses his neck, teeth grazing over the sensitive skin. Hannibal gasps and the music stops abruptly. The kisses continue, her tongue flickering playfully and tracing the line of his neck.

Suddenly, she pulls back and a gasp of discontent leaves his lips. Hannibal turns to face her, his pupils wide with arousal, and sees a satisfying look of a cat who got her bird.

“I think I need a break,” he says with a smile.

“I agree,” Bedelia replies nonchalantly and leans in to meet his lips, before he gets a chance to utter another word.

The taste of her lips makes him shiver. He takes her face in both hands; his thumb brushing over her chin and kisses her back. His mouth moves fervently against hers as they kiss again and again, with no desire to stop any time soon.

All his notes are now forgotten; there is no music more perfect than the sound of her soft sighs.


	24. Unusual ingredients

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt: "what if Bedelia glaces at Hannibal 's hand when he is putting a few drops of liquid from the penicillin bottle inside the beaker he is making Bedelia her personal face cream".

Few unusual sights have welcomed her in that kitchen, but this is the most bizarre of them all.

The sound of pots clinking lets her know that Hannibal has begun his dinner preparations, but after a while an uncommon smell of coconut and almond pervades the air. It appears that, for once, he is not preparing meat. Suddenly another scent joins the others, sandalwood.

Bedelia pauses her writing and looks up from her sit at the top of the table, one giving her a perfect view of the kitchen. She observes curiously as Hannibal proceeds to mix two liquids in a bowl. He then takes a tiny, unlabelled bottle and a dropper. Bedelia raises an eyebrow as he uncorks the bottle, fills the dropper and adds precisely ten drops to the mixture in the bowl.

Apparently, he decided to supplement the flavour of their guests. Or poison them. Perhaps he intends to poison _her_ ; an unlikely notion, but nothing should be taken for granted when Hannibal Lecter is considered.

She gets up from the table and walks towards the kitchen. Hannibal is too absorbed in the task at hand to notice her standing in the doorway, until she speaks.

“I believe cyanide remains the best choice.” He looks up surprised, by her presence or her words, she cannot tell.

“Best choice of poison, that is,” she continues when he does not comment. It is unlike Hannibal to miss an opportunity to engage in a verbal match, but he merely gazes at her, his eyes somehow hurt, and then returns to his endeavour. Bedelia watches him for another minute, but as he remains stubbornly silent, she returns to her paper.

Dinner proceeds as normal; no poison is detected, neither are the coconut and almond flavours she had smelled before.

It isn’t until much later, when she sits at her vanity and removes her make-up, that a small jar is placed in front of her. Bedelia gazes at the jar, and then at Hannibal, with a puzzled look.

“You said that your skin is irritated due to the dry Tuscan air,” he says,” I took the liberty of preparing this cream for you. It should help lessen the discomfort and hydrate the skin.”

Bedelia opens the lid and a sweet, fragrant smell fills her nostrils. She tests the cream on her finger; it has a soft and rich consistency.

 “Coconut and almond oil with Aloe Vera and patchouli,” Hannibal explains further,” No cyanide, it did not match well with the recipe,” he adds with a playful smile.

“Thank you,” Bedelia smiles back. Hannibal’s kitchen holds more secrets than she anticipated. And suddenly she looks forward to discovering them all. After all, her hair needs as much care as her skin.


	25. Sensitive spot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt: Bedelia was ticklish on her stomach. Hannibal discovered it once when he started to softly kissing her stomach to go down. He was delighted with her gentle giggle.

The sun is barely above the horizon when the mist of her lingering slumber is parted by warm fingers brushing her hair and soft lips touching her neck. The kisses are tender and feather-like; he does not want to wake her up too abruptly. The lips move down her collarbone and he nuzzles the hollow of her throat. His fingers trace the outline of her breasts, his mouth follows. He loves to nibble, but refrains himself from doing so now and settles for delicate licks and kisses.

Bedelia finds herself suspended in a pleasurable bliss, not dreaming still, but not yet awake. She shifts slightly and sighs deeply. She relishes the new-found trust that flourishes between them; one she had never experienced before and that allows her to fully savour his touch at this moment.

Hannibal continues to caress her breasts until a proper moan leaves her parted lips. He then continues down, trailing kisses down her taut stomach. But when his lips move pass her belly button an unexpected sound escapes her mouth, a giggle. He stops at once, looking up her; her eyes spring open, she is no longer asleep.

“Are you ticklish, Doctor?” Hannibal asks with a playful grin.

Bedelia says nothing, just gazes at him. She was always wary of her _sensitive_ area. Each time he found himself too close to that spot, she would push him further down immediately; he did not complain, so eager to taste her. But now he knows.

Hannibal keeps his eyes on her as he lowers his head again and gently brushes her skin with his nose. Bedelia is determined not to react, but her body gives her away with an involuntary wriggle. His eyes widen in delight and he kisses her stomach again, causing her to laugh once more.

“ _Bellisima_ ,” he comments and before she gets a chance to reply, he kisses her again. She giggles and he beams, as though it was the most marvellous sound he had ever heard.

“You are ridiculous,” she says at last, but does not stop him.

Soon her giggles turn into moans and it is something they both adore most.

 


	26. Shaving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt: Bedelia shaving Hannibal

“You missed a spot.”

Her voice startles him. His eyes shift from his own face to her silhouette reflected in the corner of the bathroom mirror. It is uncommon for her to be up so early. He sees her standing in the doorway, watching as he applies shaving cream; a blue silk robe tied loosely around her figure, her hair mussed and the remnants of sleep still clinging to her face. Hannibal smiles; he will never grow tired of seeing her like that.

His adoring gaze follows her as she approaches him and takes the brush from his hand. “Sit,” she tells him and he obeys at once. She dips the brush in cream and continues what he started, spreading it evenly on his cheeks and neck, ensuring all skin is covered.

When she finishes, she sets the brush aside and lifts his head upwards. He watches, entranced, as Bedelia lifts the razor, her fingers wrapping smoothly around the handle. The steel catches the light of the bathroom lamp, sharp and brilliant, just like her eyes. His pulse quickens as she takes the razor to his skin. She begins to shave him, short and slow strokes. Hannibal closes his eyes and luxuriates in the feeling.

Bedelia leans forward, her fingers gently stretching the skin on his neck and Hannibal feels her hair teasing his face, an unexpected caress. A sudden smile spreads on his lips.

“Please stay still, or I might cut you,” she says as the razor stops by his jawline.

“I will wear the mark with pride,” his eyes open with a playful glimmer, smile not leaving his lips. She looks at him without a word, the blue of her eyes reflects disapproval, but also care.

“I trust you,” he says earnestly, taking her other hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing her palm tenderly. Then he closes his eyes again, surrendering to her and her touch.

Bedelia resumes the task, her fingers gently caressing his cheek as the blade moves with precision and she smiles to herself. She knows she holds more than his face in her hands.


	27. Tight grip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt: Hannibal comes home from work after getting a haircut and Bedelia makes a comment about it.

“You cut your hair,” is the first thing Bedelia says when he enters the apartment that evening.

“Yes,” Hannibal looks pleased with himself,” It was unkept. A colleague recommended a local barber and he turned out to be fairly competent,” almost a complement by his standards.

Her eyes scrutinize the end effect, the longer locks are now gone, replaced by very short strands. She watches him, but does not comment, then leaves the room.

Hannibal finds her sitting in the armchair where she spends the remaining of the evening, reading. The lack of conversation is unexpected, but Hannibal does not press on. The silence continues throughout their dinner and he ponders what could have happened during his absence to warrant such a reaction from her.

After the meal, Hannibal pours two glasses of brandy, offering one to Bedelia. She accepts it with a quiet thank you. He snakes an arm around her waist and pulls her closer. His lips meet her collarbone, giving her a lingering kiss. When she does not respond, he finally asks, “Is something the matter?”

“No,” she turns her head slightly to meet his gaze, but her eyes travel to rest on his hair instead. A sudden thought appears in his mind. “Are you displeased because I cut my hair?” an astonishing notion, no wonder he failed to register it sooner.

“Of course not. You can do as you wish,” she replies.

“But you do not like it,” he is still surprised, not realising she cared about such things.

Bedelia turns to face him, her hand reaching out in an attempt to comb her fingers through his hair, but it is no longer possible. Her fingertips trail over the remaining strands before withdrawing.

“There isn’t much to _hold onto_ ,” she simply says and steps away. Another startling comment, but then familiar sensations resurface in his mind; her fingers firm in his hair, fingernails digging into his skull. He adores when she does that. She isn’t very vocal when they make love, but he can always tell when something gives her pleasure, because the grip on his hair tightens and she pulls harder.

Suddenly he understands, feeling like a fool.

“I can make it up to you,” he offers, his arm around her once more. To his relief, she does not move away.

“May I start now?” he asks when she does not respond.

“You may,” she consents with a smirk. His arms pull her closer and he kisses her with abandon.

He could tell by the fingernail marks she left on his skull that he was off to a good start.


	28. The Image of Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Hannibal drawing Bedelia and Bedelia sees his drawing and really admires it.

Her finger moves slowly along the thick paper, tracing the outline of the pencil drawing. It is incredibly life-like; every curve, dip and line sketched with exquisite precision onto the sheet of paper.

She had found the drawing by accident, casually displayed on his desk. It is not like Hannibal to be so careless, perhaps he intended for her to find it. A drawing of her, laying naked on her back, draped in the satin sheets of their bed. Her first reaction is exasperation; she does not wish to be treated as a life drawing class when she sleeps. When she is exposed and vulnerable. But she continues to stare at the drawing, admiring its beauty; she does not look vulnerable at all.

Bedelia always took great care of her body, for her own benefit, rather than enjoyment of others. Although she can be critical of herself at times, in her pursue of excellence, she knows she’s an attractive woman. But here she appears _perfect_. She marvels at the skill it took to draw it, or maybe it was something else, something more.

Suddenly she senses him standing behind her and wonders how long he has been watching her. It seems to be more than just a habit, as proven by this drawing.

“Is this how you see me?” she asks, her earlier objections forgotten.

“No,” he replies, standing next to her,” this is how you are.”

A shiver passes down her spine, yet she remains unsure of his words, or rather herself.

“My eyes are closed.”

“Yes, I did not want to disturb your sleep,” he pauses,” And I do not think I am able to capture their brilliance,” his admiring gaze moves from the drawing to her face, staring enrapturedly into her eyes. Bedelia says nothing.

 

Few days later, she wakes up to a sound of scratching. It’s delicate, almost soothing; it takes her a moment to realize it is a sound of graphite on paper. She opens her eyes and finds Hannibal sitting in the chair with a pad on his lap and a pencil in his hand. He notices that she’s awake and the scratching stops.

“I am sorry,” he says in a hushed voice, looking away shyly. He sets the pencil aside.

Bedelia is about to pull the sheet closer to cover herself, but then she recalls the drawing; his vision, the way he sees her.

“No,” Bedelia says, surprising Hannibal and herself,” Please continue. Perhaps now you can draw my eyes.”

She shifts slightly to make herself comfortable and Hannibal waits until she remains still. He brings the pencil back to the paper, hesitant at first, but the strokes become more confident in time.

Bedelia stares at him, holding his gaze in all its intensity. It is an exhilarating sensation having him look at her this way, taking in all of her, like no one has ever done before. She is more aroused with each passing minute; his eyes are like a fervent caress, leaving hot imprints on her skin.

When he finally puts the pencil down and breaks the gaze, she feels displeased, regretting that it’s over.

“May I see?” she asks, still unfettered. He comes to sit next to her and shows her the drawing. It is as flawless as the previous one, even more so. What captures her attention are her eyes; they are wide, radiant and fierce. The image of a powerful woman.

And Bedelia knows it is true.


	29. Library

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Can you write a story of Bedelia falling or slipping and Hannibal catches her?

Hannibal takes delight in showing her around the Palazzo, as they both share the same passion for rarefied things. Today’s visit ended in the private library, a dimly lit space with cherry wood shelves in every corner. Endless rows of leather bound books standing on ceremony, living witnesses to history.

Even if her Italian is too basic to read them, Bedelia appreciates the beauty and the knowledge stored here. Her fingers skim over the spines of the volumes, as she admires the craftsmanship. Suddenly her gaze falls on a particularly exquisite cover.

“May I?” she turns and looks at Hannibal, standing on the other side of the room. He does not seem to be absorbed by the collection, his eyes focused on her alone.

“Of course,” he replies without hesitation.

Bedelia reaches her hand, but it appears language is not the only barrier standing between her and the books. Her fingertips barely graze the shelf.

“Can I help?” Hannibal asks at once.

“No, thank you,” Bedelia retorts. She does not like to be reminded of the advantages he has over her, even the ones she can’t fault him for.

Her eyes notice a small stepping ladder resting by the wall; she takes it and places it in front of the bookshelf. Hannibal opens his mouth as though wanting to say something more, but her determined stare makes him swallow the words.

Bedelia steps on the first rung and reaches out again. As soon as one of her feet shifts, the stepping ladder wobbles causing her to lose balance. She prepares herself for an uncomfortable landing, but her feet never reach the ground, as a pair of strong arms keeps her in place. Turning her head, she meets Hannibal’s concerned eyes. She does not know how he managed to cross the room so fast; she did not hear his footsteps approaching.

Bedelia finds her footing again, but he continues to hold her firmly in his arms. Only when she steps down and both of her feet are back on the floor, he releases her from his embrace. He then reaches his arm out and takes the volume she was looking at.

“That was not necessary,” Bedelia attempts to regain her composure.

“I do not want you to get hurt,” he tells her earnestly, concern returning to his eyes.

He glances at the book in his hand.” Boccaccio’s late works are not worth it,” he hands her the volume,” There are treasures more priceless than words on paper.”

Her gaze remains stern, acknowledging his attempt of a flattery, but the corner of her mouth curves slightly as she takes the book.

The following morning, her usual coffee and cornetto are accompanied by a sheet of paper filled with Hannibal’s elegant handwriting; it is a translation of a poem. He was right, it is not that good.


	30. Enigma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: What if Bedelia used the excuse of walking on uneven ground in heels to clutch on to Hannibal?

“You can’t expect me to wear flat shoes to a theatre,” Bedelia says, noticing his stare. She could always read his thoughts.

Hannibal watches as she prepares for their evening out, topping her black dress with a pair of red Louboutin stilettos. She looks breathtaking, as always, but Hannibal is more concerned with her safety. He is worried she might hurt her ankle again. Still, he knows better than to try to persuade her.

“I will order a taxi,” is the only thing he says.

“There is no need,” Bedelia stops him in his tracks,” It is only a ten-minute walk. I like the city after dusk,” she adds when he remains silent, knowing he won’t be able to deny her that enjoyment.

“As you wish,” he says, resigned, and Bedelia goes to retrieve her coat with a satisfied look.

As they leave the apartment, he offers her his arm and her hand rests on his upper arm lightly, as usual. They cross the river and venture into the labyrinth of narrow streets. Streets with uneven paving. Hannibal makes a conscious effort to walk slowly, wanting to make sure she reaches their destination uninjured.

“We will be late for the show,” she says suddenly, urging him to pick up the pace. Hannibal sighs, but does not comment, his steps quickening.

All of the sudden, he feels her stagger ever so slightly. He suppresses a remark and is about to ask if she is all right, when her arm wraps tighter around his and her other hand comes to rest on his forearm. He gazes at her in surprise, but meets her usual emotionless expression. The one he knows to be fake. She says nothing, but keeps the hold on his arm.

Hannibal turns his head back with a smile. Bedelia never ceases to astonish him and he knows that she will always remain an enigma. He looks forward to slowly unravelling her.


	31. Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Hannibal is worried about something but Bedelia hugs him from behind and he savours the moment

The sun sets behind the Duomo, drowning the city in an amber radiance, one that can never be captured in full, even by the most talented artists.

Hannibal gazes out the window, committing each shade to his memory. But the image in his mind appears distorted, like a smudge on a freshly laid paint. The more he looks, the more significant the streak becomes. Hannibal examines its source, an unknown feeling disturbing the tranquillity of his memory palace. _Regret_ ; it is not an emotion he has ever experienced before. Every decision in his life, every step leading to this moment, he would not alter it in any way. But now as his pursuers draw closer and the danger infuses the beauty of the city below him, sorrow rises within him.

_“You are drawing them to you.”_

The familiar voice echoes in the chambers of his mind and as if a silent spell was cast, he hears a sound of heels approaching. A silhouette appears in the doorway and Hannibal gaze moves from the city outside the window to a woman’s image reflected in the glass. A woman whose safety he is worried about. A woman, and life, he does not want to lose. More remorse fills his heart, threatening to spill over the brim, as his eyes glisten.

Bedelia moves again, walking towards him; he is certain she has noticed his melancholy. She stops behind him, but Hannibal remains silent, letting her speak first. The white pieces always make the first move and she is his White Queen, powerful and decisive.

But no words leave her lips, instead she wraps her arms around his waist, pressing herself closely to him, her cheek resting on his back. He places his hand on top of hers, as she holds him tenderly, as no one else has ever done. He always towers over her petite frame, yet he feels small in her embrace and it’s ideal. He hopes she will never let him go.

It is not her that needs to be saved. It is him and she is his salvation.


	32. Hair matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bedelia uses Hannibal's weakness for her hair to tease him.

“I was considering cutting my hair,” Bedelia announces in her most nonchalant voice.

They lie together in a blissful embrace, surrounded by a rosy haze of completion and each other’s warmth. Bedelia’s head rests comfortably on his chest, while Hannibal’s fingers lazily stroke her hair.

The fingers pause momentarily as the words leave her mouth, but then resume the caress as if nothing happened. Bedelia bits her lips to conceal a smile.

“Oh really?” Hannibal comments at last, his tone casual, but she can sense the tension in his body.

 _No, not really_ , she was just curious what his reaction would be. And it was exactly what she had anticipated.

“Why did you consider it?” he presses on, attempting to keep his cool, but a certain degree of distress sips into his voice.

Bedelia finds it harder not to smile, but she continues the game.

“I am not sure if this style suits me anymore. Longer hair is more appropriate for  _a young girl_ ,” she puts deliberate emphasis on the last words and lets them hang between them, a clear nod to his unresolved childhood issues.

“It is not true, it suits you,” he reassures her at once, “You look like  _you. Y_ ou look perfect.”

“Would I not look like me with shorter hair?” she urges, eager to see what he will say next.

“Of course you would,” the words leave his mouth so swiftly as if they took a life of their own.

His fingers still and then his hand moves away as he searches for the most appropriate phrase.

“You will always look beautiful, no matter the hair style,” he pauses, “You should do whatever you wish to.”

Bedelia knows it was not easy for him to say those words and she doesn’t have the heart to torture him further. She turns her head to face him, a playful smile blossoming on her lips.

Hannibal stares back at her, confused at first, but then uncertainty gives way to a look of genuine hurt on his face. The tease was uncalled for as far he is concerned.

Bedelia does not comment, just continues to smile.

“I am not the only one  _benefiting_  from your hair, you know,” he speaks after a moment of silence, a trace of dismay still present in his voice.

“Is that so?” Bedelia asks, remaining amused, the wide smile still adorning her mouth.

“Yes,” his tone now radiates confidence and his hand moves to rest on her hair once more.

The very tips of his fingers start massaging her scalp, starting at the crown and then working their way down. Bedelia closes her eyes, relishing the sensation, but determined not to give in completely.

Hannibal’s fingers then follow the length of her hair, brushing through it slowly. When he reaches its end, his fingers wrap around a lock of her hair and he tugs ever so gently. Bedelia is no longer able to resist and sighs softly into his chest.

She seems to have been bested at her own game, but she does not mind. Neither of them ever does. The only thing that matters is that they are playing together.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at http://bedeliainwonderland.tumblr.com/ where I obsessively fangirl Hannibal and Bedelia.


End file.
